Lessons from Fire
by kirstyvega
Summary: A one shot about family, love and life.  Learning goes both ways: from parent to child and child to parent.


I turned off the lights one by one, moving slowly through the house, avoiding a squeaky floorboard and a rough patch on the old red hall runner. Absently, I thought to myself that we should replace the rug, but like so many other things around here it was too much a part of the scenery to change. Foolish really, I grinned into the darkness: life was about change and about to change.

On my way to bed I paused outside my son's bedroom door. I could hear the snuffling softness of his snores - he was sleeping deeply and easily. A characteristic he got from his father I concluded, a thought which put another wry smile on my face.

Listening to the uncomplicated rhythm of his breath coming from the other side of the door, I couldn't resist opening it. Quietly, gently I turned the knob and slipped into my son's room.

I wasn't sure why I felt the need to be there - he certainly hadn't wanted me to tuck him in for some time. Perhaps, like any parent, I just wanted to feel close to my child, our mutual physical presence somehow soothing and protective.

He turned, rolling calmly, and, with a grumbling murmur he settled once again. A little moonlight from an unusually cloudless night sky lit his face and I saw his features clearly. Of course his straight nose and thick, curving lips were familiar; I'd seen them nearly every day of his life. But relaxed in sleep, tucked between a pillow and his arm, in the half light of quarter past midnight, my son's face was so similar to that of another person I loved deeply.

Watching him sleep I found another explanation as to why I'd snuck into my son's room: he was the closest living part I had of -. Damn it! Damn my weakness, I still couldn't bring myself to think or say the name.

Sighing heavily, I turned to leave, wondering if tonight I would dream about –

"Everything ok? Why'd you come in?" a sleep-roughened voice interrupted what had nearly become a navel-gazing internal monologue. For that I was grateful, I didn't need another night of self-induced sleeplessness, going over and over the long-exhausted 'what ifs' in my head.

"Fine, son. Just fine. I'm about to hit the sack too. Get back to sleep, you have a big day tomorrow," I replied and composed my face before I turned to him.

He looked at me drowsily but something made him open his eyes wider, rub them once and sitting slowly, he questioned me again.

"You sure you're ok? You look," he paused as if searching for the right word and then continued "sad."

Damn his perceptiveness! He definitely got that from –

"Because there's no reason to be sad, you know. I'm not going far. We're not going far at all."

And there he was again. My boy: the peacemaker and the carer. Full of love and concern and fire. So damned much fire for the ones he loved. I'd had that too. Heck, I still had it sometimes, although these days it was a little harder to kindle. He was the one who made sure my fire never burned out.

I realised he was watching me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I felt bad; it was unfair to let this reversal of parent-child roles hang in the air between us so I swallowed thickly and searching for something to say, only managed to come up with a rather pat "I know, son. I'm just being sentimental."

He reached out and I moved closer to hug him.

The sudden fierceness of it shocked me. Family should never be a shock, nor should love. But sometimes when they are, it's damned nice. The fire flared inside me again and I hung on for one last squeeze.

Letting go softly he looked up at me almost bashfully, "Maybe now's not the best time to ask and all…" he let the sentence, the idea, trail off into thin air. I waited but he seemed unusually lost for words.

"Son," I prompted him, "If there's anything we've learned in the past few years it should be that there's rarely a better time than the present to say things."

The internal monologue started up _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou._ All of the times I had never said it even when I wanted to seemed to now fill me, swelling me close to bursting point. The fire flickered as if a damp ocean wind was choking it. Damn it again! I was being particularly pathetic tonight. I mentally justified this by way of coming events.

My son frowned, took a deep breath but then seemed to deflate and moved to lie back in his bed. "Never mind, I didn't mean to bring it up now. It's not urgent, I'll ask, we'll ask later when the time's right."

"Jacob," I grunted, "You're getting married tomorrow, or later on today actually, so there's no time like the present to tell your old man what's on your mind."

There, I'd redressed the father-son balance. I was definitely the wise parent now.

He chuckled sheepishly and reached out to pat my arm.

"Sure, sure, Dad. It's just that, well, we thought…we thought…we wanted to know…"

He gave up again.

But then it came out in a rush.

"Bella and I would like to know if, in a couple of years, you know, when we're ready and everything, when the time is right and we have children, well, if there's a girl, if we could call her Sarah?"

The silence between us was warm. The fire was electric; crackling, popping, snapping deep inside both of us. Love. Us Black men can be so damned full of it.

Before I could reply, he sped on. "It's ok Dad, never mind. It was just a silly idea we had. I mean, I didn't want to hurt you. I know her memory still hurts you. Both of us, really…"

Pushing one hand forward to grip his shoulder and swiping the other across my blurred eyes, I pulled him towards me as best I could for another hug.

"Son," I whispered more hoarsely than I wanted to, "You are so damned much like your mother. Like Sarah."

There. I'd said it. I'd said her name.

_iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ But what about all the times I'd never said that? Gone now. Gone and nothing, no one, to tell it to.

He rocked me a little and those parent-child lines disappeared again. I struggled for a breath and to finish my thought aloud. "I can think of no better way to honour her, to honour Sarah's memory than for you and Bella to name a daughter after her."

We moved apart, something occurred to me and eying him suspiciously I asked "When the time is right, though son. Which isn't now, is it?"

He grinned. He grinned her achingly sweet smile and laughed her big laugh. The gravity of the moment broke with the sound of it.

"Geez Dad, I might be a bit dopey sometimes but Charlie's got a shotgun and knows how to use it! I sure wasn't dopey enough to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage _and_ tell him it was gonna be a shotgun wedding all in one breath! We're gonna wait a while."

I let out the air I didn't know I'd been holding. "Good. Kids take a lot of effort you know, son. Dedication and all that." I was the wise parent again.

"Clearly so," he shot back teasingly, "I'm 22 and you still show up in here thinking I need tucking in and a bedtime story!"

The wise parent needed to take control. "It's well past your bed time, young man. If you don't go to bed now I'll…" 

"You'll what, Dad? Ground me? I'm moving out tomorrow, remember? Into the house around the corner that Bella and I built. Or are you too senile to recall these minor details, old man?"

The fire burbled and flared at the sound of his taunting chuckle. He'd always been such a joker. Even when he was a tiny baby. She'd loved the sound of his laugh.

Sarah.

Sarah had loved her son like no other. _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_

I could almost hear her voice scolding mildly: Get a grip, William. So I did.

Grip firmly in hand I looked my son square in the face and responded as seriously as I could. "I'll tell your future wife what a pain in the ass you are! On second thought, no I won't because then she might not marry you and I'll be stuck with you under my roof indefinitely."

Wife. In less than 12 hours my son would have a wife. I reminded myself again that life was about change.

The word seemed to have a sobering effect on him too. His cheeky grin turned dreamy, nearly shy. "Any last minute words of advice, Dad?"

I considered him: this man, my son. Through his bedroom window I watched a scudding cloud expose the moon while I rifled my mind for some suitably parental words. In the brighter light I saw that woman, _my_ wife in his face. _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_

"Jake, son, tell her, tell Bella every damned day that you love her. Even when the house is a mess, and the kids are screaming, and work at the garage is killing you, and she's still wearing her pyjamas at 3pm, and the bills won't go away, and the truck breaks down again, and the neighbours cat pisses you off, and the game's on but she wants to watch some poncy period movie, and the council's got you running overtime, and there's a birthday party to shop for, and the boys want you to drink beer with them, and the sun won't shine, and the TV dies, and you somehow wake up with purple sparkly toenails, and the lawn needs mowing, and she's craving dill pickle and peanut butter sandwiches morning, noon and night. Even then. Tell her you love her. Tell her twice a day. Stop counting how many times a day you tell her. Just say 'I love you' as much as you can."

I stopped. I stopped before my son thought I was a madman and regretted asking for advice. Looking away, I shrugged awkwardly and made to leave. "Anyway, get some sleep boy, she won't want you if you've got bags under your eyes."

He was staring at me.

I couldn't just feel the fire in him. I saw it, roaring, blazing, so close the surface. Damn it all over again! Some advice I was qualified to give! Dragging my own baggage to the surface didn't constitute guidance and wisdom. Ashamed at failing as a parent again I opened my mouth to wish him good night –

"Was it really like that Dad? Did you love her, mom, Sarah _that_ much?"

He was still staring at me, a funny expression on his face. It took me a moment to classify it – concern? worry? wonder? admiration? awe? Awe. It was awe. I'd run off at the mouth about a bunch of shit and here he was awestruck.

I owed him an explanation so he didn't think his old man really was senile. "No Jake, it was nothing like that at all. It was more. I just…"

"Yeah Dad?"

"I just didn't tell her often enough."

He grabbed me again. His fire wrapped around me inside of our hug. It was h_er_ fire. I felt warmer and more alive than I had in the last thirteen years.

Funny how these things happen. Right when the closest living part I had of Sarah Clearwater was moving away, I felt nearer to her than I had since she died. The urgency, the poignant pain of my mistakes ebbed a little. Some things, some chances, some people _were_ gone, but there wasn't nothing, there wasn't no one. _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ became just _iloveyouiloveyou_

A gravelly voice brought me back. "I love you so damned much Dad."

"Love you too, Jake."

I'd sleep soundly again tonight. Like I used to.


End file.
